


Courting Customs Most Sacred

by HeyJude19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Co-workers, Courting Rituals, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJude19/pseuds/HeyJude19
Summary: Published in 1862 by Lady Apollonia Nott, Courting Customs Most Sacred is the comprehensive text for any pureblood family seeking to arrange suitable matches for their children. It’s also patently ridiculous and not at all appropriate for the modern era of dating. It is certainly not how one should woo Hermione Granger, at any rate.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 101
Kudos: 981
Collections: For the Love of SanSan





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full Summary: Published in 1862 by Lady Apollonia Nott, Courting Customs Most Sacred is the comprehensive text for any pureblood family seeking to arrange suitable matches for their children. It’s also patently ridiculous and not at all appropriate for the modern era of dating. It is certainly not how one should woo Hermione Granger, at any rate.
> 
> Story Length: Two-shot, about 15,000 words total.
> 
> Universe: Canon-compliant until epilogue, completely disregards epilogue.
> 
> Warnings: M for a reason, mild violence/depiction of attempted assault in Part 1.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling; no money is being made from this story.

_“As the paragons of virtue and purity in magical society, it is the duty of our esteemed Pureblood families to secure suitable marital alliances for their heirs. While preservation of our notable magical lineages is of the utmost importance, one cannot devalue other attributes that distinguish the pureblood witch and wizard from others of more common blood. Herein I shall detail the proper traditions adhered to for centuries by our forebears; traditions that have afforded us our rightful place at the pinnacle of our world. The sacred customs and rituals observed as part of the courting process are undoubtedly renowned however, for posterity’s sake, I have endeavored to record the appropriate steps in their entirety with the intention that all of our families of noble stock may benefit…” --Introduction, page xx, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

* * *

Draco had just put his quill to the parchment when the sound of hurried footsteps entering his office and pausing before his desk distracted him.

“Malfoy I need your help,” came the whispered, urgent plea from the witch standing before him.

Immediately abandoning his work in favor of a far more entertaining task, he smirked up at her.

“What can I do for you today, Granger?”

“Shh, lower your voice!”

Hermione sank into one of the two chairs in his small office and twisted her hands in her lap.

“You’ve got to save me from Pansy.”

Draco chuckled wryly. “What’s she done now?”

Hermione sighed. “Look, I know you’re her best friend and—”

“Actually, Granger,” he drawled. “I rather think you’ve usurped me in but a few months. According to Pansy, anyway.”

She groaned and ran an anxious hand through her curls and sighed. “Merlin, I did not ask for this…”

Oh, but she had, thought Draco.

* * *

The strange new reality of Pansy Parkinson seeking the friendship of one Hermione Granger kicked off roughly 8 months prior.

Though Draco knew Pansy to often embellish her stories, he also knew that her description of Granger’s heroics that fateful March afternoon to not be exaggerated. Well, maybe the part about Granger breathing fire ( _“I swear Draco, she was actually spitting flames at these men when she cursed them, like this fantastic, frizzy-haired, dragon!”_ )

From Pansy’s re-telling, and Hermione’s reluctant corroboration, the debacle began at the Leaky Cauldron. Pansy had used the public Floo there for access to Diagon Alley, when she was heckled by a trio of drunkards. Holding her haughty head high, she strutted through the pub and onto the street as if she could not hear them.

But her troubles didn’t end there. The three men saw fit to follow the witch and in broad daylight, trailed after her while spouting off all manner of slurs.

“Death eater whore!” was the most polite thing out of their mouths.

Pansy kept her composure even as not a single person on the street stopped to assist a petite, young woman being harassed by a group of much larger men. The public couldn’t claim ignorance, the taunts were loudly and clearly following Pansy down the street as the men grew closer, grew bolder.

She tried to remain calm, but as the men’s threats became more violent and overtly sexual, her eyes cast around for some sort of haven. She quickened her footsteps and heard her pursuers speed up as well. Desperately looking around, she was alarmed that the people around her merely stared on blankly as if this were normal, as if she deserved this.

As one of the men loudly proclaimed he’d like to practice some unforgiveable things with his wand inside her, if they caught his drift, she darted into an alley and took out her wand.

Distantly, behind the men, she thought she heard a shout of “Hey! Leave her alone!”

Shakily, she turned and prepared to face her assailants. But Pansy had never been a skilled dueler, and one of the leering men quickly disarmed her. Another one flicked his wand and she was stuck to the brick wall behind her. Again, she thought she might have heard an urgent voice screaming for help and yelling at the men, but perhaps it was inside her own terrified mind.

One of the men struck her across the face and she whimpered in pain. They jeered at her and one of them leaned in to lick the blood off the corner of her lip. She spit at him and he hit her again. Pansy saw stars as her head slammed back against the brick and she thought she might have a black eye now to go with her split lip.

“How dare you, you fucking traitor! We’re gonna show you exactly where Death Eater scum like you belong… on your knees.”

With that horrifying pronouncement, she was shoved down. Just as one of the men began to rip at the shoulder of her robes, the shouted voice came closer.

“I said, LEAVE HER THE BLOODY HELL ALONE!”

And in came Pansy’s savior in the form of a furious Hermione Granger. In two flicks of her wand she’d subdued all three attackers. From their now immobilized and bound positions on the ground of the alley, they stared up at her, wide-eyed.

“How dare you… HOW DARE YOU?! I witnessed everything you did to this woman and rest assured, I will be personally making sure you are arrested and thrown into prison.”

Trembling in rage, Hermione turned to the battered and shaken form of Pansy. “Pansy, are you all right? We should get you to the hospital,” she said in a soft voice.

But Pansy’s pride was wounded at having been rescued in such a manner, by filth no less, that she instantly recoiled from Hermione. “I don’t need help from the likes of you!” she sneered. “Leave me alone, Mudblood!”

Hermione sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples.

“Parkinson. Listen to me. We’re not friends, I understand, I do, and I know you hate me for the inane reason of my circumstance of birth. But let me help you today and we can go our separate ways and never speak of this again. Now,” Hermione stood and glared down at the captured men.

“I’m going to send a Patronus to Harry, then I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s. Once you’re cleaned up, you are going to give a formal statement to the Auror office and press charges against these men. But first, I’m going to address the lovely group of bystanders at the end of this public alley,” she said briskly.

Sweeping her hair back, she squared her shoulders and stalked towards the crowd that had assembled to watch the ruckus.

“All of you should be absolutely ASHAMED of yourselves!” she shrieked. “We did not win a war for blood prejudice to keep poisoning our society this way! How could you all just stand by while this young woman was harassed, beaten, and almost sexually assaulted? This behavior is reprehensible and I hope everyone here who decided apathy was the best course of action never has to know what it feels like to be attacked in this disturbing manner. This disgusting lack of caring for our fellow witches and wizards is EXACTLY how Voldemort was able to come to power! This was UNCONSCIONABLE!”

It was the shock of being defended so fiercely by someone who Pansy had done her damndest to make feel inferior for her entire childhood that spurred the tears. Pansy had walked past purebloods, half-bloods, mothers, fathers, people old and young and none of them, not one, had tried to help her, save for proud muggleborn Hermione Granger.

Seething with rage, Hermione spun around and Pansy recoiled slightly as she stalked back over to her. She could only look into the face of her former bullying victim in stupefied awe through streaming eyes.

"Let’s go,” Hermione ordered gently.

Pansy allowed Hermione to apparate her to St. Mungo’s. She let her help her with the admittance paperwork. Hermione stood by Pansy’s side while the Healer checked her over and healed her external wounds. She helped Pansy with the discharge paperwork. Before Pansy could protest, they’d Flooed into the Ministry together. Finally, Pansy found her voice again.

“Granger, wait, just wait a minute,” she said tiredly, tugging on the other woman’s sleeve.

“I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“’Course you can,” Hermione replied assertively. “You’re going to press charges for physical assault and attempted sexual assault. Harry already has the full names of your attackers.”

Pansy shook her head sadly. “No, Granger, I can’t. I don’t want to… look, you’re a mud—a muggleborn, you wouldn’t understand. If this gets out in the press or if there’s a public trial, my prospects will be ruined. No suitor will want to associate with me if they think I may be… tainted.”

Hermione sucked in a harsh breath and drew herself up to her full height. Pansy swore to this day that the ends of her ridiculous hair crackled with magic in this moment.

“I don’t give one bloody flying fig about your arcane, inbred, pureblood traditions! Those men were going to do unspeakable things to you, in broad daylight no less, and you want to let them walk away? Parkinson, look at me!”

Pansy’s tear-filled gaze met Hermione’s blazing one. “You were, quite honestly, an awful person at school. While you may have tormented me and my friends, no one could deny that you were tough. Draw on that toughness now, because if you don’t, you’re letting these men walk free to do this to another defenseless woman. Is that what you want?”

Pansy could only shake her head.

“Good, let’s go see Harry.”

Pansy let herself be led through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by Hermione’s hand all the way to Harry Potter’s office. Harry was nothing but professional and polite as he took Pansy’s official statement. Hermione held her hand the entire time. Pansy only let go at the conclusion of the interview to shake Harry’s hand.

As Hermione steered her to the exit, Pansy’s emotions were a jumbled mess. She suddenly felt her limbs shaking and dropped into a nearby chair. Hermione handed her a glass of water and rubbed her back soothingly.

“Is there someone I can Floo for you?”

Pansy shook her head. “I’ll be fine in a minute. I live with my mother, and I can have one of the elves see to me.”

“Perhaps a friend of yours I can notify?”

Pansy wracked her brain for someone she could depend on. Most of the women in her circle would regard her in muted horror, her mother included. The men in her life would be useless too except… perhaps… well perhaps _he_ would talk to her. After all, Draco had also had a pretty rough go of it after the war, but seemed to be doing all right for himself these days.

“You work with Draco, don’t you?” she asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded. “Sometimes. We’re on the same floor.”

“Take me to his office?”

Draco remembered a pale-faced Pansy rushing through his office door, a concerned looking Hermione two steps behind. She burrowed into Draco’s arms, and as he took in her bruised face he urgently asked just what the hell had happened to her. Pansy pulled away from her bone-crushing hug to smile widely.

“She happened!” she pointed excitedly at a slack-jawed Hermione. “Granger happened! Oh, Draco, she was magnificent!”

Thus began Pansy Parkinson’s newfound fondness and loyalty to Hermione Granger.

Thus began Draco Malfoy’s newfound romantic feelings for Hermione Granger.

He’d been consoling Pansy while she prattled on and on and on about how amazing and wonderful and fierce Granger was but all he could do was nod mutely.

He already had a cordial and friendly working relationship with Granger, and of course she was an aesthetically pleasing witch, but this act of compassion towards Pansy tipped Draco right over the edge.

He himself had experienced first-hand the depths of Granger’s compassion, when after just one week of working down the hall from her and studiously avoiding her gaze every time they’d crossed paths, he found himself walking to her office. He’d offered a stilted apology for his past behavior, unable to look her in the eye, but she’d accepted it graciously nonetheless. Thereafter, she suddenly began working on more joint projects with him, or dropping by his office to pick his brain on a suspected Dark artifact. Over the years, they’d grown much more comfortable in one another’s company, often working late nights when a case required, Granger only sneaking away to bring back Muggle takeaway to share.

When Pansy left Draco’s office, she leapt on Granger, giving the shocked witch a tight hug and promised to owl her the next day. Hermione stood stunned and for a rare moment of her life, was at a total loss for words as Pansy flounced out of the Ministry.

“What just happened?” asked Hermione.

“Welcome to Pansy’s circle of friends,” he replied dryly.

Hermione had rolled her eyes and left his office, leaving Draco to chuckle to himself. That little bookworm had no idea what she was in for.

Pansy steamrolled her way into Hermione’s life, set up shop, and acted as if she’d been lifelong friends with the woman.

She owled Hermione constantly, dropped by the Ministry unannounced to treat her to lunch, sent extravagant gifts to her home, kidnapped her one memorable afternoon to buy her a whole new wardrobe, and invited her to every event on Pansy’s social calendar. Said events included high-society soirees hosted by elite pureblood families: charity auctions, galas, balls, garden parties, high-teas, and the like.

And woe betide anyone who dared condescend to Hermione Granger when she was in the presence of Pansy Parkinson.

“Do you know who this witch is?” she’d thundered at one memorable event. Draco suppressed a laugh as he thought back on the memory of the snooty pureblood heiress who had dared to insult Hermione’s heritage that evening.

“This witch not only helped defeat the Dark Lord, but she rescued me from certain ruin, so you can take your opinion of her and shove it straight up your arse along with that horrid faux-diamond choker around your emu-like, wrinkled neck!”

Both Hermione and Draco had needed to physically restrain Pansy from cursing the woman, who’d fled from the ballroom in tears.

Hermione, while grateful for and amused by Pansy’s sudden change of heart, was more often than not on the verge of exasperation with her new friend.

It was now commonplace for Draco to glance up around lunchtime and see Pansy tugging Hermione along behind her, Hermione’s pleading eyes would catch Draco’s as she was rushed past, begging for help, but Draco would only smirk and give a cheery wave in response.

Pansy proclaimed Hermione her sister.

_“Well, see Draco, I have no siblings, Hermione has no siblings, but we have a life-bond now so that makes us sisters! You wouldn’t possibly understand.”_

“I’m an only child too, Pansy.” She waved his statement away.

Pansy proclaimed Hermione her newest project.

_“Granger, no offense, but seriously, I know what your salary is and you have far too much money to be dressing the way that you do. We’re getting you new robes this weekend.”_

_“Granger, you’ve got so much hair to work with, have you been using the products I sent you?”_

_“It’s called a Cushioning Charm, Granger, I know you know how to cast one. I don’t want to hear any more excuses for why you can’t shove those dainty little feet of yours into these gorgeous 6-inch heels.”_

_“Granger, if you really want to make an impact with this house-elf legislation nonsense, then these are the pureblood wives you need to be acquainting yourself with. Don’t worry, I’ll come with you, I actually have a decent amount of dirt on Lady Fawley…”_

Pansy proclaimed Hermione her role model.

_“Draco, have you ever seen Granger cast a Patronus? It’s positively flawless, I’m having her teach me this weekend.”_

_“Draco, do you know how many hours Granger puts into this stupid job at the Ministry?”_

“Yes, Pansy, I’m in the same department, we—”

_“She works too much, I’m always telling her that, but you know it got me thinking that maybe I should finish my education? I can’t laze about my mother’s manor forever, and Granger’s been really inspiring me lately to better myself, you know? Women in our society get quite the raw deal, Granger’s always saying, and I think if I applied myself more I could really do something with my life!”_

_“…and Granger’s right, you know, why do women need to marry? Honestly, witches get nary a benefit in those pureblood marriage contracts that I think I’ll just take some time to be single and figure out what I’d like to do with my career. My mother almost hexed me when I told her all this, of course, but I’ve explained to her what Granger said, that we don’t need men to prove our worth, that our standing in society should be based on our own skills and talents, not what we can offer the men in our lives.”_

_“Granger, I think it’s so admirable that you’ve been single this long, I think I’ll take a leaf out of your book!”_

And now Granger was in Draco’s office, hiding from Pansy’s newest crusade into her life.

“Merlin, I did _not_ ask for this…”

Draco leaned back in his chair and smirked at her. “Did she send your CV to the Minister for a promotion to the head of the DMLE like she threatened to?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Oh for the love of… no, not yet anyway! No, if you can believe it, this is far more embarrassing.”

“And you’re whispering all this in my office because…?”

“Because I had my contact at the security check-in desk start notifying me whenever she enters the building.”

“About time.”

“And she’s on her way up here now with a list of eligible bachelors for me to peruse.”

Draco’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Come again?”

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. “Pansy has made it her newest mission in life to set me up with, and I quote, ‘the perfect man to treat me like the goddess I am.’”

“I see,” he said tonelessly. “How did she happen to come under the impression that you were in need of her assistance in this area?”

Hermione twisted her hands in her lap. “I well, I… I honestly was only trying to get her to quit spouting off about what a wonderful, accomplished spinster I am. She kept going on and on about how I’ve made such wonderful strides in my career and how I’m clearly so happy without male attention in my life and on and on until I sort of… snapped and told her that just because I’m satisfied with my life and work does not mean I’ve simply given up looking for a romantic partner. Apparently, Pansy took that to mean I’ve given her free reign over my love life and is now determined to set me up with someone _worthy_.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked beseechingly to Draco. “So you’ll help me?”

He perked up at her plea. “How can I help here?”

“Take some of the heat off me! Distract her with a gala or something, I don’t know, just get her off my back about this!”

“Now why would I want to do that, Granger? No, I think your predicament suits me just fine. If Pansy is all wrapped up in fixing your love life, it means she’ll finally stay the bloody hell out of mine.”

Hermione’s jaw fell open in indignation. “But—but—seriously Malfoy?”

“As an Imperius curse. Look Granger, you’ve been friends with her for a matter of months, I’ve had to put up with years of her meddling. Frankly, I’d like a little break from her romantic machinations. Then I’ll be down to just one pureblood heiress harping on about me finding a wife.”

“I thought things were better with your mother since you’d moved out of the Manor?”

“Oh they are, but if you think that’s going to stop Lady Malfoy from butting her nose into my social life, then you’ve severely underestimated her. Do you know what she said to me last week? She said, and I quote, ‘I did not lie to the Dark Lord to save you so that you could throw away your life as a lonely, lowly, Ministry worker!’”

“She didn’t!” Hermione gasped.

“I assure you, she did, and all because I said I didn’t want to ask Astoria Greengrass to accompany me to the Christmas gala. Can you believe that? She actually pulled the ‘I lied to You-Know-Who’s face for you’ card!”

Hermione giggled. “That’s quite the trump card, I have to admit. Well played, Narcissa.” Draco huffed. “Yes well, she should use it a bit less if she wants it to still have an impact on me. Her other favorite to throw out is ‘with your father gone, it’s high time you assumed your rightful place as head of this family!’”

“I thought your mother was proud of the work you do here?”

“She is,” Draco conceded. “I think this was her way of yet again reminding me that I’m still single and without an heir at the ripe old age of 25.”

“Hmm, yes, I was just going to say you’re looking a little long in the tooth lately,” she jested. Suddenly, her demeanor turned serious. “Malfoy,” she pointed towards his forehead. “Is that a gray hair?”

Instantly his hands were in his platinum locks. “What? Where?” he sputtered and just as he was about to frantically transfigure his ink pot into a mirror, he caught Hermione with her hands over her mouth to hide her mirth.

“Oh, ha ha, very funny, witch,” he said sarcastically, but when Hermione finally did succumb to her laughter he found himself reluctantly joining in with her.

“Yes, isn’t she just?” trilled a new voice from the doorway and Draco’s head snapped up to see Pansy leaning casually against the doorframe.

Pansy’s eyes flicked between Draco and Hermione and a devious grin split her face wide.

As Draco saw the wheels turning behind Pansy’s eyes, he felt the color drain from his face. How long had Pansy been standing there, observing his conversation with Hermione? She looked far too amused and relaxed to have only now stumbled upon them in Draco’s office. He knew what that mischievous look meant and he needed to put a stop to this situation before Pansy took it too far.

“Oh, uh, hi Pansy! I didn’t realize you were stopping by today,” Hermione flushed as she pushed out the lie. “Did you need something? It’s a bit early for lunch.”

“No, please, don’t let me interrupt such a fruitful discussion between two, uh, _colleagues_ ,” she said smoothly. Draco narrowed his eyes at her behind Hermione’s back.

“What do you have there, Pansy?” Hermione asked, apprehensively eyeing the length of parchment in the other witch’s hand.

“Oh this? A silly little list but you know,” her eyes gleamed and flicked in Draco’s direction, “I don’t think it’s necessary any longer.”

Pansy tore the parchment in two and smiled sweetly at Hermione. “I was only stopping by to say hello,” a statement Draco knew to be false. “I’m on my way up to visit Potter and drop off a tin of biscuits I made yesterday. He said his wife absolutely devoured the last batch I sent so I thought I’d whip up something else for her. I’ll owl you later, Hermione. See you, Draco.”

And with a triumphant last look that sent a chill down Draco’s spine, she sauntered off.

“Pansy is baking now?” asked Draco, incredulously.

“In a manner of speaking. She makes Hagrid look like a world-class chef.”

“I never had the pleasure of sampling his culinary talents.”

“Lucky you.”

As the conversation came to a natural end, Draco found himself trading shy smiles with the witch across from him. Was it just him, or did she seem hesitant to leave?

“Right, well, I’d better get back to it now that I find myself with a Pansy-free day. Let me know if that report on the cursed vase comes back, would you?”

“I know where to find you.”

With another small smile, Hermione left to return to her own office, just down the hall in the research division of the DMLE.

As soon as she was out of sight, Draco’s smile dropped and he threw himself back into his work, praying to every deity known to man that Pansy wasn’t plotting what he suspected she was plotting.

* * *

_“…most proper for interested parties to seek an invitation to a private tea or luncheon from the mother of the intended wizard. This allows the matriarch of the household to properly assess the character of the interested witch as well as observe her table manners, conversational skills, and her adherence to decorum. For mothers actively seeking matches on behalf of their sons, they may personally extend an invitation for such a private audience before being contacted by the witch’s parents…” --Chapter 2, page 16, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

Draco carefully levitated the faux-Ming dynasty vase from his desk. It hovered in the air, allowing Draco to peruse it from all sides while it rested safely encased in a clear, protective sphere. Etched just along the bottom, Draco was able to make out a line of runes, and though they looked rather harmless, it was best to be safe rather than sorry. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to convince wealthy Muggle buyers that this vase was the real deal, which meant those runes held the key.

Of course, Draco had taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, and this line of symbols wouldn’t be too difficult to decipher. However…

There was a certain witch just down the hall who not only could decipher these quicker than he ever could, but who had also proclaimed herself eager to work on this artifact with him.

Fine, it was a flimsy excuse to spend time with Hermione.

“Granger, thought you might want to take first crack at the runes here,” Draco announced as he levitated the vase into her office.

“Oh! Hi Malfoy!” Hermione looked up from a sheaf of stationary to beam at him. “Excellent, just let me finish this letter.”

She rounded off her last line, signed and sealed her missive.

“Writing to Pansy to tell her she cannot, under any circumstance, redecorate your flat again?” Draco guessed.

“No, actually, it’s a thank you note to your mother!”

Draco dropped his wand in shock and but for the magical sphere protecting the delicate vase, would have shattered all the evidence he’d brought for Hermione. Luckily, the sphere held, allowing the artifact to come to a gentle rest on the floor instead of crashing into a million pieces.

“I beg your pardon?”

Hermione gave him a strange look. “Yes. I was writing to thank her for the lovely afternoon we had over tea this past weekend. She didn’t tell you?”

“My mother?”

“Yes.”

"My mother had you for tea?"

“Yes.”

“At the Manor? She made you come to the Manor?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Merlin, no. We met at the Porcelain Kettle off Diagon Alley. She had a private room set up for us. It was quite lovely.”

“My mother, Narcissa Malfoy, treated you to tea and she was… cordial?”

Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. “Merlin, are you deaf? Yes, your mother invited me out for tea, I accepted, we met in a private parlor and whiled away a rather pleasant afternoon with some light and stimulating conversation. Is my interrogation over yet, sir?”

Draco’s throat bobbed at the way she called him “sir” at the end of her tirade, even if it had been riddled with sarcasm.

“And what did you two even talk about?”

Hermione huffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy, but she began with a lovely apology for the way I’d been treated by her family in the past and was hopeful I might look past our less than pleasant history so that we may become better acquainted.”

“My mother apologized?”

“Yes.”

“To you?”

“Yes! What the bloody hell—?”

“And said she wanted to become better acquainted with you?”

“YES NOW WOULD YOU KINDLY STOP—?”

“Why would she want that?”

The look Hermione gave him bordered on murderous.

“Gee, I don’t know, Malfoy, but I like to think I am worthy of getting to know, despite what you may think of me,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Whoa, whoa, Granger, that’s not what I meant!” he replied hastily. “Look, it just surprised me is all, my mother is generally a very private person. I wasn’t trying to slight you, not at all,” he pleaded.

Hermione softened at that, seeming slightly mollified at his clarification.

“Yes, well, as I said, she was quite pleasant and expressed interest in signing on as a benefactor to a few of the causes I support. We spent most of the afternoon discussing my passion projects outside of work.”

Draco breathed out a sigh of relief. It was nothing, his mother just wanted to expand her reach as a philanthropist and Hermione was the ideal candidate to seek out in order to secure that goal. Still, even as Draco moved on to discuss the possible dark artifact he’d brought to her office, he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that his mother had an ulterior motive.

* * *

_“…luncheon with the intended groom’s mother and her associates should occur before any betrothal contract is issued or even discussed. A young bride is only worthy of her future husband if she can prove to be adept at navigating social situations and forming advantageous relationships. It would behoove the mother of the intended groom to ensure a collection of notable ladies make the acquaintance of the intended bride…” --Chapter 2, page 22, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

A light knock on his doorframe alerted Draco to Hermione’s presence after lunch the following Monday.

“Hi Malfoy, I have that rune translation for you. Looks like our culprit is merely a prankster as opposed to a dark wizard. The symbols spelled out a rather rude message, but there’s nothing to indicate the vase is cursed beyond an admittedly clever replication charm that mimics a true Ming vase. You can kick this one back to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

Draco accepted the report from Hermione and his stomach flipped when their fingertips brushed.

“Right, well, umm, thanks Granger,” he said tightly.

“You’re welcome,” she replied stiffly. She hovered awkwardly in his doorway and Draco politely waited for her to say what she was clearly bursting to say.

“I umm, had lunch again with your mother this weekend.”

Draco was more composed this time and held back the exclamation of surprise that threatened to bubble past his lips.

“Oh? Did you take tea again?” Draco commended himself for sounding coolly interested instead of suspicious.

“No, she hosted a ladies’ luncheon and invited me to join her regular social circle in the garden room at the Flitterbloom & Folly Hotel.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at this revelation. Narcissa Malfoy’s luncheons were notorious among pureblood women. Even Pansy had never been invited to one and had whined to Draco on more than one occasion that she’d give her wand arm to attend just one of these exclusive events.

“Did she now?”

“Yes, and I’ll admit I was a touch nervous, especially attending one of these events without Pansy, but it turned out to be rather lovely. Your mother is quite the social butterfly and kept prodding me to bring up certain causes I affiliate with. I hope I didn’t intrude on her time with her friends and completely monopolize the conversations, but your mother was rather insistent that I talk up my personal interests,” she admitted with a slight blush.

“Anyway, thanks to her, I’ve got several letters to write to new contacts during my lunch hour. See you later!”

Draco stared after her as she took her leave, willing himself not to think the worst of his mother’s machinations.

* * *

_“…while bouquets are also acceptable in lieu of larger arrangements. The procurement and gifting of a witch’s favorite flower by a wizard indicates he has the approval of his parents to pursue the witch’s hand. Acceptance of said flowers on the part of the witch indicates that she, and by extension her family, is in favor of the suit…” --Chapter 3, page 51, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

When confronted yesterday, Narcissa claimed ignorance to Draco’s suspicions and insisted that her relationship with Hermione Granger was nothing more than a mutually beneficial way to both secure the young witch funding for her extracurricular projects and at the same time keep the Malfoy name in society’s good graces.

Draco sighed and hoped that’s all there was to it. Pansy, on the other hand, had been much too quiet this week, and he’d not seen her hovering around Hermione’s office. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

“Draco! I need your help with something, quickly please!”

Speak of the devil and the devil appears…

Pansy’s head appeared around his doorway, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. Draco got up and followed her out of his office as she took off. He froze when he found her standing alone in Hermione’s empty office.

“Uhh Pansy? Why are we in Granger’s office?”

“Hush and stand over here.”

She grabbed Draco by the shoulders and pushed him until he was standing with his back to Hermione’s desk. She increased the pressure on him until he sank into a sort of half-sitting position on the edge of it.

“Great, stay just like that,” Pansy ordered then grabbed something from behind him.

“Hold these,” she bossed, and Draco found a large bouquet of ludicrously bright purple violets shoved into his hands.

“Pansy, what the—?”

“Quiet and do as I say. Now,” she reached up to his hairline and he jerked back from her hand, but she remained undeterred.

“The fuck, Pansy?”

She ignored his protests and proceeded to lightly ruffle his hair, combing it with her fingers so it fell slightly to one side.

“If you’re quite through manhandling me, can you—?”

Pansy held up an impatient hand to silence him and stepped back and regarded him thoughtfully for a minute.

“Perfect. Now, don’t move or I’ll hex you and remember, I never ask you for anything so please do me this favor and do. Not. Move.”

With a final warning glare from Pansy, Draco was left in his peculiar position by himself in Hermione’s office, clutching the flowers.

Draco counted maybe 20 seconds before a pair of voices approached and he began to panic.

“…why you couldn’t simply owl me all this Pansy, I really don’t see the need for you to keep coming to me at work when I—oh!”

Hermione entered her office, Pansy hot on her heels, and found Draco exactly in the same position he’d been left in by Pansy: leaning casually against her desk holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

He had no bloody idea. Not one sodding clue.

“I uhhh… I…”

“Oh my goodness, Draco, you brought flowers for Hermione!?” Pansy exclaimed.

Draco opened his mouth to deny it, but at the stunned yet hopeful look on the face of his beautiful coworker (coupled with the fervent nodding of Pansy’s head behind Hermione’s back), the denial died on his lips.

“Did—did you really bring those for me?” Hermione asked softly as a pink blush crept up her pretty face. Pansy kept up her rabid, wide-eyed nodding from behind her and Draco handed Hermione the violets.

“Uh, here you go.”

“Thank you… they’re beautiful. Violets are my favorite, how did you know?” She was gazing up at him with that open, earnest expression of hope again and it nearly split Draco in two. Pansy began pointing silently and frantically at herself.

“Oh uh… Pansy. Pansy told me.”

Hermione turned to smile at her friend, who immediately fixed her face into the perfect picture of innocence. Draco narrowed his eyes at Pansy.

“Well isn’t this just lovely! Draco found out your preferred flower, presented you with a bouquet and you accepted. Marvelous!”

Draco was going to throttle one of his oldest friends. He’d turn himself right in too, save Potter some investigative time and paperwork.

Hermione beamed up at him. “Thank you, again, this was such a wonderful surprise. Would you, umm, by chance be free for lunch today? We could—?"

“Sorry, Granger, perhaps another time. Pansy, a word?”

Without waiting for a reply, Draco swept past Hermione and grabbed Pansy tightly by the upper arm. He practically threw her bodily into his office, slammed the door shut, then warded and silenced the space.

“What the hell are you playing at?!” he exploded at her.

Pansy scoffed, completely unperturbed by his outburst, and inspected her nails. “Relax, Draco, I’m just giving you a prod in the right direction. You could thank me, you know.”

“Thank you? THANK YOU!? Why the hell would I thank you for embarrassing me like that in front of Granger?” he thundered.

“Oh quit being dramatic,” she snapped back. “So I made it look like you thoughtfully picked out her favorite flower, big deal. She was obviously very receptive to the gesture.”

“Stay out of my personal affairs, Pansy, I mean it,” Draco warned.

“Fine,” she said, before yanking open the door and stalking out. Draco slammed the door again behind her and resisted the urge to bang his head against the solid wood.

* * *

_“…most proper to debut an intended match at a familial ball. The event may be hosted by either the witch or wizard’s family, but must take place in the ancestral home…” --Chapter 4, page 87, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

“Hi Malfoy. Bad time?”

Draco looked up from his report on a cursed quill bewitched to make the writer unwittingly divulge all of their private financial information to see Hermione hovering in his doorway.

“Not at all,” he replied, thinking to himself that he had all the time in the world for Hermione. “Did you need something?”

She held up a piece of thick, cream-colored cardstock that was unfortunately familiar to Draco. “Your mother invited me to the Christmas ball being held at your family home.”

“She did?”

“Yes, and I was… well, it’s silly really, but I initially declined her invitation but then she dropped by my home to personally hand me another one and insisted I attend.”

Draco didn’t know which part of that sentence shocked him most.

“Why did you decline? If you have a conflicting engagement that evening, don’t feel pressured by my mother to upend your own plans.”

“It’s not that,” Hermione said hurriedly. “It’s just… you know, the ball is being held at Malfoy Manor and I… wasn’t sure I’d feel comfortable returning…” she trailed off awkwardly and stared at the floor.

The shame bubbling in his gut made him want to throw up all over his desk. “Granger, on behalf of my mother, I am so sorry. She had no right to make you feel guilty about returning to the scene of… of that night,” he responded quietly.

“I really would love to attend, though, if only to pay her back for her kindness in initiating key contacts for my charity work, but—”

“Granger, you owe my mother absolutely nothing. Hell, my family, and the whole of the wizarding world honestly, owes you quite the debt.”

Hermione’s cheeks went scarlet at his praise. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth.”

He stared into her eyes for a beat longer than was socially acceptable for a professional environment.

“Well, anyway, I told your mother I was quite keen to attend, just that I was a bit anxious and she umm… suggested something that might help make the event more enjoyable for me.” She paused here to take a deep breath, seeming nervous. “She thought that if I had a date, or not really a date per se, more of an escort… oh gods, that sounds even worse…I mean,” she took another breath to collect herself. “Your mother had the idea that if I had someone to accompany me for the evening then I would be able to enjoy myself. When I informed her that I’m not currently seeing anyone she said that…” Another gulp of air, but Draco could already tell how this sentence was going to end, “that you would be more than willing to take up that pleasant task.”

If Draco wasn’t so appalled at his mother’s absolute lack of scruples in cornering him into this awful position, he’d tip his hat to the woman. This was a masterstroke of emotional manipulation.

“My mother,” he repeated slowly. “Told you that I would accompany you to the ball?”

Hermione looked mortified. “Only if you wanted to!” she squeaked. “I didn’t mean to presume… oh Merlin’s beard, this was a terrible idea, I’m sorry Malfoy, of course you wouldn’t want to take me as your date—”

“I never said that.”

“Oh. But you probably already have someone you’re taking or thinking of taking and even though your mother said you didn’t, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be all right with—”

“I don’t have a date to the ball.”

“Oh. In that case… would you mind terribly if we went together?”

He really wanted to tell her this was a horrible idea. He wanted to tell her they’d both been duped and had played right into his mother’s (and probably also Pansy’s) well-manicured hands. He wanted to tell her that he’s been besotted with her for months now, and this isn’t at all how he would have gone about wooing her. He wanted to tell her that she was far too good for the likes of him, and he in no way deserved to have her on his arm at his family’s Christmas ball.

But his selfish nature won out, as it usually did, and he replied with a tight smile and a, “I don’t mind at all, Granger.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“…while not carrying the same legal weight as the signed betrothal contract, the heirloom pieces signify to society that the match has been agreed upon by all parties and may serve as the official announcement of the impending marriage. Several of our ancient families make use of ‘betrothal jewelry’ such as the alexandrite tiara of House Nott, the golden and ruby cuff bracelet of House Shacklebolt, and perhaps most notable and historic of all, the amethyst and emerald necklace of House Malfoy…” --Chapter 5, page 132, Courting Customs Most Sacred, Apollonia Nott_

In the week leading up to the Christmas ball at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was mysteriously indisposed every single time Draco dropped by to speak with her. Resigned to his fate and hoping beyond hope that attending the ball with Hermione would satisfy his mother’s ridiculous thirst for meddling, Draco gave up trying to confront her.

The evening of the ball, he paced anxiously in front of the Floo in the front parlor, clad in his finest black formal robes. He’d agreed to meet Hermione here so he could escort her to the ballroom. This side of the Manor was nowhere near the infamous drawing room of horrors past, but Draco didn’t want to take any chances of Hermione losing her way and suffering undue stress.

She arrived at a quarter past 7, just after the ball had kicked off. She’d confided in Draco that it would be easier for her to be fashionably late and perhaps blend in with a crowd already gathered in the ballroom.

As she dusted off her robes, Draco admired her choice of evening wear. Hermione was adorned in perfectly tailored, gray silk robes, with a fitted bodice and long, flowing bell sleeves. Her hair was sleeker than he’d ever seen it and pulled up into an intricate knot behind her head with not a single wild curl out of place. Heavier makeup than usual covered her face, and the click of her shoes indicated she’d chosen a rather high heel for the evening. As she approached him with a smile, he thought she looked every bit the proper pureblood wife.

It was all wrong.

She looked stunning, of course, but not at all like Hermione.

Hermione, who looked beautiful at 6 o’clock on a Friday evening, with tired eyes and her curly hair thrown up haphazardly as she dictated a last-minute report in her office and seemed quite on the verge of madness when Draco would stop by to urge her to “go home and actually have a bloody weekend, Granger, the reports will still be here on Monday.”

Hermione, who was gorgeous as she walked swiftly past his office in the mornings in her plain and sensible work robes, sipping her tea and carrying far too many files at once.

Hermione, who made him weak-kneed when she argued until she was red and blotchy in the face with their shared nemesis in the budget office at the Ministry because the idiot dared audit their department’s last investigation.

Hermione, who devastated him with a genuine smile whenever the two of them worked on a difficult task together and managed to collaborate and solve the case with their combined intellect.

The woman who stood before him was clearly a product of Pansy and his mother. They’d shaped and molded an already exceptional woman into some stranger they thought would appease Draco.

And around her neck, he realized with sudden horror, hung a very familiar piece of jewelry…

“Granger… that necklace—!”

“Oh, it’s too much, I know, but your mother sent it this morning and absolutely insisted I wear it tonight.”

“Did she now?”

_Oh, Mother, tell me you didn’t…_

Hermione looked puzzled at his narrowed eyes and suddenly cold tone. “Y-yes. She said it would be a personal favor to her, but goodness, I feel so nervous with this around my neck. I’m only borrowing it, of course, she mentioned it was a family piece.”

“Indeed it is, in fact it’s the—”

“Miss Granger, there you are!” Narcissa appeared suddenly at Hermione’s side, beaming at the ostentatious jewels clutching the young witch’s throat.

“Hello Mrs. Malfoy, thank you again for allowing me to borrow the necklace, it’s truly beautiful,” gushed Hermione.

“Think nothing of it dear,” replied Narcissa, waving an imperious hand. “Now,” she linked her arm through Hermione’s, “I’ve several members of the Wizengamot you simply must meet and of course, Lady Stanwyck has been asking after you since our luncheon. Let me take you through to the ballroom and we can—”

“Pardon me, Mother, but shouldn’t I—”

“You’ll have Miss Granger to yourself for the rest of the evening, darling, once the cocktail hour is finished. I’ve got you two seated together for dinner, at my table, of course, and you can monopolize her when the dancing begins.”

And leaving a gaping Draco behind, Narcissa gently but firmly steered Hermione towards the ballroom. Draco stood still and tried to marshal his thoughts and calm his racing pulse. He finally decided he needed to intervene before Hermione unwittingly embarrassed herself and took off after the women. Trust his mother to take advantage of the younger witch’s earnest nature.

But Draco was too late. He’d dithered too long and now Hermione and Narcissa had entered the ball, arm in arm, and were immediately photographed, because _of course_ his mother had enlisted the services of a society photographer for the evening.

A growing dread overtook him as he realized pictures of Hermione Granger strutting around the Malfoy Manor ballroom bedecked in the infamous amethyst and emerald betrothal necklace would surely make the Daily Prophet. And the worst part was, Hermione had no idea. She was completely ignorant to these idiotic and outdated courting customs, but the veil would be lifted tomorrow when the headlines would scream about an impending engagement between her and the Malfoy heir.

Draco walked purposefully to catch up, intent on _Accio-ing_ the damn thing off Hermione’s neck if he had to, but once again, was far too late. Many of the assembled guests had noticed the necklace on Hermione and if Draco hadn’t been so concerned for her, he would have laughed aloud at some of their expressions.

Kingsley Shacklebolt almost dropped his glass of whisky. Molly and Arthur Weasley went wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Minerva McGonagall looked from Hermione to Draco as if she’d just caught the pair of them snogging in the Hogwarts corridors after curfew. Horace Slughorn choked on a deviled egg. The Greengrass sisters bent their heads together to whisper heatedly. Pansy daintily sipped her champagne with a look of fierce triumph in her eyes.

It didn’t escape Draco’s notice that this year’s guest list included a surprising number of Gryffindors, former Order of the Phoenix members, and plenty of Weasleys.

_Subtle as a Howler, Mother._

Harry Potter and his red-headed wife could be seen chatting with Ron Weasley and whichever Patil twin had agreed to marry him. That foursome gave him polite nods and waves, and Draco was thankful that at least that group hadn’t cottoned on to the necklace’s true meaning.

Narcissa kept to Hermione’s side for the entire hour, taking her around to different couples and social cliques, Draco only able to catch snatches of conversation as he strategically placed himself amongst chatting groups nearby.

“Oh yes, Miss Granger and Draco work together at the Ministry, didn’t you know? They make quite the team! My Draco specializes in cursed artifacts and Miss Granger here is an expert at research and analysis. Quite the complementary pair, don’t you agree?”

Draco gnashed his teeth and tried to concentrate on his conversation with Theodore Nott, who was smirking knowingly at him, the arsehole, but could not keep his scowl at bay at his mother’s words. It wasn’t like anything she said was untrue, but perception is everything and Narcissa knew exactly how this would play in the society pages. Conveniently, etiquette rules of polite society meant that no one dared mention the perceived engagement between Hermione and Draco to Hermione’s face. _Wonderful._

Just as Draco grew hopeless and was on the verge of berating his mother in public, dinner was announced. But Draco was thwarted again, when Narcissa sat herself in the chair directly in between Hermione and Draco. Since current Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt himself was seated at their table, Draco could hardly cause a scene.

Throughout dinner, Hermione chatted warmly with both Kingsley and his wife, and Narcissa looked far too pleased with herself. Hermione engaged Draco in conversation a few times, and Draco forced himself to answer as normally and cordially as possible, even if he wanted to scream.

When Draco’s torture ended with the announcement that dancing would commence and a waltz filled the air, he seized his chance to confront his mother.

She tried to sneak away from him, claiming she needed to have a word with the conductor of the full orchestra she’d enlisted for the evening, but Draco wasn’t letting her slip away this time.

Before he was more than a few feet away from the table, a soft voice called out to him.

“Malfoy?”

He stopped in his tracks, as he did whenever his name fell from her lips. Draco sighed and turned to face Hermione.

“Granger, give me a moment, I really need to talk to my mother.”

He expected her to beam up at him and wave him off, but instead she looked a bit crestfallen. Had he done something to offend her? They’d barely interacted all evening.

“Of course, maybe you could find me when you’re done? I was wondering if… if you wanted to maybe uhh… dance with me?”

As he looked down into her glowing brown eyes, Draco wanted to say yes, immediately. He wanted to whisk her off to the parquet dance floor and hold her close for the remainder of the night. He wanted to gather her in his arms and conduct soft conversations in whispers about all the things he could do to her if she let him.

But he couldn’t do that, not to Hermione. Because the second they began waltzing together, most of the room’s suspicions would be confirmed and the society photographer would have all the evidence he needed to publish his speculative story about Draco’s intentions to wed Hermione. It wasn’t right, and Draco wouldn’t let her be another salacious story in the gossip pages.

It was clear now to Draco that Hermione had some feelings beyond friendship for him, and he more than returned the sentiment. But this wasn’t fair, to have the situation manipulated by others to force them together. He wanted his pursuit of Hermione’s affection to be genuine and natural, not hastened along by outdated notions of courtship.

“I’m not sure that would be the best idea, sorry,” he said flatly, and turned away before he could see or hear her response.

Reaching his mother, he clasped her elbow and murmured in her ear, “We need to talk. Now. Let’s go to the traveling parlor.”

Narcissa pursed her lips but mercifully obeyed and they parted through the crowd easily, Draco trying to remember to nod and smile politely at passing guests.

When they reached the parlor, she swept past him to stand regally by the fireplace and turned to face him, waiting for him to speak.

“You need to put a stop to this charade, Mother. Now.” Draco ordered.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about and –”

“Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you.” Draco snapped and she narrowed her eyes, but stopped talking.

“I’ll admit, it took me a bit longer than it should have to catch on, but needless to say, your reprehensible action this evening has made your intention quite clear.”

“Reprehensible? Really Draco?” she arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“The Malfoy betrothal necklace, are you insane?” he hissed. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know? Half of that room knows what that piece signifies, as well as that over-eager vulture with the camera you hired, which I’m sure was exactly your plan.”

Narcissa said nothing, neither confirming nor denying his accusation, but her silence was as good as an admission of guilt for Draco.

“Granger has no idea, none,” he pleaded softly. “You’re playing on her naivety of pureblood customs and it has got to stop.”

His mother scoffed. “You are overreacting. From what Pansy has told me and from what I’ve seen with my own eyes, the two of you are rather enamored with one another. Pray tell, what sin have I committed in merely helping the courting process along?”

“My feelings for her are beside the point! She’s gallivanting around that ballroom right now because of you and Pansy, completely ignorant that everyone is smiling and whispering and gossiping behind her back because of that Merlin-damned necklace! How do you think she’ll feel when she discovers tomorrow morning that wearing that blasted thing means I’ve essentially proposed marriage to her? We haven’t even gone on a date! Why would you want to put that pressure of the spotlight on her? Don’t you think she’s been through enough because of our family?”

Draco’s chest was heaving by the end of his tirade, unable to fathom how his mother and best friend could be so inconsiderate, so duplicitous.

After a few beats of silence, his mother merely huffed out an impatient breath. “Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you have no wish to court Miss Granger?”

“I DON’T WANT TO COURT GRANGER!”

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply, but quickly snapped her lips shut as she stared wide-eyed at a point over Draco’s shoulder.

Whirling around, Draco found to his utter dismay that Hermione was standing in the doorway to the parlor. If the look of genuine hurt on her face was anything to go by, she had most definitely heard what he’d just shouted in his mother’s face.

“Granger, I—”

“So sorry to interrupt, I merely wanted to say goodnight before I left,” Hermione offered in a shaking voice, speaking over Draco.

“You’re leaving?” he cried. “But—”

“Thank you for the lovely evening, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione rushed out, talking over Draco again and addressing Narcissa. “But I really must be going.”

“No, please, stay Miss Granger. Draco and I were only—”

“No, really, I must be going. I—I feel rather unwell. Thank you again for inviting me to your home,” Hermione forced the sentence out as if it pained her. She met Draco’s eyes for a moment, and her feelings were written plain as day, wrecking him. She was distraught, humiliated.

Hermione spun on her heel and practically sprinted away. He could only stare at the space she’d just occupied, willing his brain to speed up and figure out how the hell to fix this mess.

Narcissa rounded on him. “Draco, why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it was the truth,” he responded hoarsely. “I don’t want to _court_ her, I want to _date_ her. I want to explore an honest relationship with her on our own time, on our own terms, not bind ourselves to the mad scribblings of some pureblooded hag from the 1800s.” He turned back to his mother, furious. “And now, thanks to you, I’ve quite lost that chance.”

Narcissa shook her head. “No, go after her. Now, go.”

With a growl of frustration at both his mother’s scheming and his own stupidity, he tore down the hall back towards the ballroom. He darted through the crowd, but there was no sign of Hermione. There was no way she could’ve Flooed away, having just come from the traveling parlor, and it would be most unlike her to wander to other rooms of the unfamiliar and imposing Manor. Just as he was considering enlisting the help of Potter and his entourage he was confronted by a distressed Pansy.

“Draco, I’m so sorry, I just saw Hermione and—”

“Where? Where is she?”

“She rushed past me out to the garden a few moments ago, if you hurry you can catch her before she gets by the wards to apparate. She was really upset, I’m sorry, I—”

“Save it, Pansy, I’ll deal with you later,” he said shortly then hustled to the back of the room. He burst out the glass doors onto the snow-covered stone verandah behind the estate, the chilly December air stinging his lungs.

In the near distance, he saw a slim figure clad in silver running pell-mell towards the edge of the grounds. With his much longer legs, he could probably catch her, but when he was 20 yards from her she suddenly stopped.

Draco came to a halt too, wondering what had slowed her down, when he saw the tell-tale trembling of her shoulders. Her body began to shudder and curl in on itself, and he knew she’d succumbed to shaky sobs.

He stayed silent and watched her walk the final 10 yards before she disappeared into thin air. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he meandered listlessly back to the party, a sinking feeling in his gut. Draco had no desire to return to the revelry, so instead cast a few warming charms and sat out the remainder of the evening on the verandah.

As he heard the ball wind down a few hours later, his mother came to find him.

“An owl just arrived. She’s sent back the necklace.”

Draco made no reply as his mother stepped forward and handed him the open letter. His sharp gray eyes scanned it eagerly as he recognized Hermione’s handwriting. His heart sank at the cold and stiff language in her missive, formally thanking his mother for the invitation and borrowed jewelry and further saying that she unfortunately had to decline any future teas and luncheons from Mrs. Malfoy, as she had too much to be going on with at the Ministry. Draco was not mentioned at all.

“What will you do?” inquired his mother.

Draco let out a hollow laugh. “What can I do? What can I ever do? You know, I rather thought with Father gone that perhaps I could be trusted to make my own decisions about what I want in life. But I suppose that was just wishful thinking.”

He stood abruptly and made to stalk by her, but Narcissa laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I was only thinking of your happiness, darling, but I see I may have been misguided.”

Draco gave her a curt nod, his expression softening slightly, before he took his leave for the night.

* * *

The next morning, Draco’s Floo roared to life not long after breakfast. An anxious-looking Pansy stepped out, wringing her hands.

“I can’t find her. Draco, I’m really worried.”

Draco did not need her to elaborate on whom she was discussing. He himself had already tried two methods of contacting Granger that morning and both had been unsuccessful. Hermione had closed her Floo and the owl he’d sent had returned almost immediately, his letter unopened and declared undeliverable.

“She’s not home, I was just there,” said Pansy, pacing in front of his fireplace.

“How did you get in?”

“Oh,” said Pansy, waving an impatient hand, “I was added to her wards a while ago. I apparated in. She must have forgotten in her haste to leave. Her flat was deserted, I don’t think she slept there last night.”

He fought down his own rising panic and said calmly, “She probably spent the night at Weasley’s or Potter’s.”

Pansy burst into tears. “Oh, Draco I’ve been so foolish! She’s been nothing but wonderful to me after I treated her so horribly for years! She forgave me and befriended me, and I had to muck about her love life and I thought… I thought I was helping! I thought I was doing you both a favor!”

“You should have left well enough alone,” he said sternly.

Pansy sighed and wiped her eyes. “I know, I’m truly sorry Draco, I’ve been a terrible friend to you too. I just want to apologize to her is all. Even if she never wants to see me again, I just want her to know I’m sorry.”

Draco took her by the shoulders and rubbed her arms gently. “She’ll come round. Granger’s nothing if not forgiving.”

Pansy nodded sadly but didn’t look too convinced. “Did you see the Prophet this morning?”

Draco froze. He’d completely forgotten about the press coverage. Sensing his alarm, Pansy clarified, “There was nothing, it’s fine. Your mother paid off the photographer. There’s a few pictures from the event, but none of her.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding. At least there wouldn’t be any public fallout from this whole fiasco.

“I know you’re angry with me, but I do hope you try and make things right with Hermione,” Pansy said softly and turned to go.

Draco could only shrug, feeling his chances weren’t all that good. “I’ll see her at work tomorrow, she can’t escape me there.”

* * *

He was wrong of course, Hermione had found the one way to escape Draco at the office. She simply did not show up at all.

He waited and waited all morning, his door wide open, to see if that familiar silhouette would stride past his door. By the time lunch rolled around, Draco was desperate enough to corner a co-worker and spew some falsehood about waiting for a report from Hermione that morning. He was then informed that Hermione had sent word that she was taking sick leave today.

Draco frowned and returned to his desk. Granger never took a sick day. It was something he mocked her for all the time. Hermione Granger had to be literally on fire before she would even consider missing a day of work.

There was nothing else for it, he needed the Boy Wonder.

Tucking the book he borrowed from the Manor’s library under his arm, he trudged down the hall, and knocked firmly on Potter’s door before he lost his nerve. “Enter,” came the brisk reply.

When Draco closed the door behind him, he found Potter’s wand pointed in his face.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hex you.”

Still holding the book, Draco could only raise one hand in supplication.

“Because I’m not the one you should be hexing. Your real quarrel is with Pansy and my mother.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but held his wand firm. “You know where Granger is,” accused Draco. “And I don’t buy for a second that she’s sick.”

Harry shrugged. “That’s none of your concern, Malfoy.”

Draco shut his eyes and took a calming breath, holding in all the petty insults he longed to throw at his former childhood foe.

“Please,” he ground out. “I haven’t been able to contact her to explain. To apologize.”

Harry regarded him suspiciously for another moment and then lowered his wand. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I do know Hermione’s current whereabouts. Why should I let you see her?”

“She’s all right then?” Draco asked hopefully, earning a strange look from Harry.

“Well,” said Harry slowly, carefully weighing his words. “Physically, she’s perfectly fine. But whatever the hell you said or did to upset her on Saturday really messed with her head.”

“What did she tell you?” he asked quickly.

Another noncommittal shrug from Harry. “Not much, but it doesn’t take an investigative Auror to put two and two together. When Ginny and I returned home from your party we found her crying her eyes out in our living room. She refused to tell us much of anything, just insisted that it was no one’s fault but her own for being foolish. Seeing as Hermione was your date for the evening, which she was a little too excited about for my taste, by the way… I think I have a pretty good idea as to who upset her.”

Draco groaned and sunk heavily into the chair in front of Harry’s desk. “Fuck,” he muttered. “My mother, aided and abetted by Pansy, took it upon herself to orchestrate a series of events and situations to make it appear as if I were actively courting Granger, even though I wasn’t. Granger happened upon a private conversation and concluded that I don’t care much for her.”

Harry tapped his chin in thought. “Well I think she got the message loud and clear. What do you need to see her for? Apologizing and letting her down gently is only going to twist the knife and I’ll not have you causing her any more pain.”

“No, you moronic twat, I need to see her so I can tell her I do have feelings for her!” Draco snapped.

Harry blinked a few times and then leaned back in his seat. Coming to himself after a few moments, he pushed his glasses up his nose and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“She’s holed up in one of my guest rooms. You can use my private Floo.”

“You would have a private Floo in your office,” grumbled Draco. He did manage to bite out an almost sincere-sounding “thank you,” before taking advantage of Potter’s personal fireplace, and disappeared into the green flames.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Draco to find which bedroom was currently housing Hermione; it was the only one with the door closed. He knocked apprehensively and was met with a groan of frustration from the other side.

“I’m fine Harry! I told you not to check on me, just go back to the office and let me be pathetic a little while longer. I promise this will be out of my system by dinner.”

Draco sighed and tried turning the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Leave it Harry! I don’t want to talk about it! I’m fine, I swear, I’m… fine… I’m—”

The rest of her sentence ended in the sound of muffled crying. Draco closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the door. Dully, he tried knocking again. He heard an exasperated groan and what sounded like Hermione throwing a bunch of blankets to the floor and bolting off a bed.

“All right, you want to know how I feel, Harry!? I feel like an absolute idiot. I feel humiliated beyond belief and I feel so bloody stupid and I just want one more day to reflect upon my own stupidity before I have to show my face at work and… and… see him and… damn it…” she broke off into what sounded like labored breathing.

Unable to stand her anguished sounds any longer, Draco pointed his wand at the door and muttered a soft “Alohomora.”

Before he could turn the knob, the door was wrenched open from the other side and he was greeted with a furious Hermione. “Harry, I said—oh!”

She gave a little gasp of surprise and leapt back as if burnt. Draco’s eyes roved over her figure in concern. She was wearing pajama pants covered in the Holyhead Harpies sigil and a frayed knitted jumper at least two sizes too big. Her hair was at its frizziest, barely contained in some sort of bun atop her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, looking overly large on her pale face as she gaped at him in a mix of surprise and horror. She looked a right mess. She looked beautiful.

An instant later, her shock subsided, and her face twisted in rage. “Come to laugh at my tears?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You think me that heartless?”

Hermione scoffed and threw up her hands in frustration before crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

“Well congratulations on pulling off your cruel little game! The conversations at work, the flowers, the manipulation into getting me to go to the ball with you... well done! You even fooled your mother and Pansy, didn’t you? They came to some insane conclusion that you actually fancied me! That’s what I overheard, wasn’t it? You assuring mummy that _of course_ you couldn’t possibly want _me_ —”

“Wrong Granger, wrong. You were being manipulated, just not by me.”

He held out the book to her, but she made no move to take it.

“This book might help,” he offered and her eyes flicked down to read the old, embossed cover of _Courting Customs Most Sacred_ by Apollonia Nott.

Gingerly, she took the tome from his hands and opened it cautiously. “I’ve never heard of it,” she said breathlessly, and Draco took a moment to simply admire Hermione Granger discovering a new book.

He cleared his throat and gathered what little courage he possessed. “It’s only found in pureblood family libraries, I imagine. This is a sort of manual that all Sacred Twenty-Eight families like mine, like Pansy’s, are raised on. My mother and Pansy… this is all they know when it comes to relationships.”

Draco tapped the cover gently with a finger. “It’s what the two of them have been using to force us together. I confronted Mother last night about her scheming. That’s what you overheard. I promise you Granger, I had no idea until I saw you wearing the necklace.”

Hermione’s throat bobbed as she met his eyes again.

“Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“And Pansy?”

“Yes.”

“Plotted together using the pureblood customs in this book to manipulate certain situations whereby we’d somehow find ourselves in a courtship?”

Draco nodded, glad she had caught on so quickly. “Yes. Mother and Pansy claimed they were trying to do us a favor to help us act on our feelings for one another. I suppose we weren’t moving fast enough for their liking,” he explained, and chanced a wry smile.

“I see,” she clipped and cast her eyes down to look at the book again. Draco was confused, shouldn’t she be a touch happier at his explanation? Happy that he wasn’t trying to play with her emotions but rather had genuine feelings for her?

“So the flowers, then? Those weren’t really from you, were they?” she asked in a small voice.

“Nope. That was all Pansy.”

“Ah,” Hermione replied. “And your mother… I see now… she suggested you would be willing to be my date, knowing I’d ask you and you’d be too polite to refuse.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why… why you refused to dance with me…”

“Yes, exactly!” He beamed at her deduction but Hermione only frowned and bit her lip. “What was that you said before? You said you didn’t know until you saw me wearing a necklace?”

“Oh, that… here,” He took the book from her hands and flipped to the correct page and handed it back. “Start at the beginning of the third paragraph.”

“… _while not carrying the same legal weight as the signed betrothal contract, the heirloom pieces signify to society that the match has been agreed upon by all parties and may serve as the official announcement of the impending marriage. Several of our ancient families make use of ‘betrothal jewelry’ such as the alexandrite tiara of House Nott, the golden and ruby cuff bracelet of House Shacklebolt, and perhaps most notable and historic of all, the amethyst and emerald necklace of House Malfoy_ …” Hermione read aloud before trailing off in horror. “Oh my gods, your mother let me wear your family’s betrothal necklace in public?!” she shrieked.

“Erm, yeah. Which is probably why you were being stared at an awful lot and—”

“The Prophet! Tell me there weren’t pictures!”

Draco held up a placating hand. “Calm down Granger, Mother runs a tight ship with all her party vendors. No photos of you made it to the press.”

Hermione sagged with relief, then closed the book with a snap.

“They are sorry, you know. Pansy was in a right state yesterday when she couldn’t find you. She’d like to apologize if you’d let her,” Draco said gently.

“Of course, she… she meant no harm, I’m sure.” Again, with that meek voice. What the hell was wrong with Granger now? If anything, she’d gone paler and was refusing to meet his eyes.

“So we’re all right then? I mean, you understand what happened now… right?”

She nodded swiftly, and Draco was alarmed to see tears gathering in her eyes again.

“Perfectly. Thank you for coming by and clearing it all up,” her voice wavered a bit, defeated in tone. Draco was positively bewildered at her behavior.

“And I owe you an apology,” she forced out a shaky exhale. “I’m sorry for accusing you of hurting me on purpose. You shouldn’t have had to come over and see me in such a state. I’ll write to your mother and apologize to her as well. I shouldn’t have left the ball like that, it was rather immature. It was simply… simply harder than I thought it would be to hear the truth,” she said, dejectedly.

“The truth?”

Her eyes flashed with ire at his question. “Are you really going to make me say it? This has been hard enough already! Just… just go, Malfoy. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

She moved forward to usher him out of the room and hand him the book, but Draco held his ground.

“No, not until you explain! What truth?”

She let out a roar of frustration. “What you told your mother! That you don’t want me! I get it, all right? You’d never actually flirt with me at work or… or bring me flowers or…”

Draco shook his head and repressed the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense.

“That’s not what I said at all! I said—“

“Yes you did! You said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to court Granger!’”

If he wasn’t so fond of his own hair, he would have torn it out at this point. “What the hell happened to remove all your confidence and common sense!? I didn’t come all the way over here after being threatened by Saint Potter to let you down easy and I’ll tell you what I told my mother after you decided to run off instead of letting me explain myself! I don’t want to court you, I want to date you!”

Hermione’s mouth clamped shut. He’d rendered the little self-righteous motor-mouth speechless and if he hadn’t just laid his feelings bare he’d indulge in his smarmiest smirk.

“You… you want to date me? Not,” she held up that blasted book, “go through any of these customs with me?”

“I absolutely do not want to do anything listed in that book with you,” he asserted.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say as she flared up in indignation. “Oh, so I’m not good enough for your precious pureblood customs, is that it?”

Draco grabbed the book and flung it clear across the room. “Will you stop assuming the worst of me? I don’t want to go through those dragonshite rituals with _anyone!_ That book is nothing but bigoted, misogynistic, outdated, rigid and ridiculous customs that are an insult to you and witches everywhere!”

“But… but your mother and Pansy—?”

“I told you, you daft witch, it’s all they know, they were brought up to think it’s the height of romance to be pursued that way! And I don’t want that with you Granger, I want something real!” He broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Real like our conversations at work. Those were all me, I swear to you Granger, those moments, they were… us.”

He chanced a step closer towards her, emboldened when she sucked in a breath but stayed still.

“Dating you means building on those moments and conversations at the office. It means I amp up my flirting until I lack all subtlety. It means I finally crack one day and blather out an offer to take you to dinner. It means late nights talking after work where we order horrendously cheap Muggle takeaway but I insist on pairing it with horrendously expensive wine from my personal cellar.”

His last comment got a watery laugh from Hermione, and Draco pushed his luck further. He stepped into her personal space and tilted her chin up to look down into her eyes.

“It means I’d probably buy you 30 different types of flowers because I’d be too proud to simply ask you your favorite and you’d be too worried about hurting my feelings to tell me outright. It means awkward moments, stupid arguments, cringe-worthy explanations to our friends and families, far too many pictures of us in the press, but ultimately all the nonsense would be worth it just to be together the way we wanted… the way I’ve wanted to for a long time now,” he finished softly and ran a finger along her jaw.

Hermione licked her lips and Draco was gratified when a mischievous smile graced her mouth.

“This dinner offer you mentioned. That would be our first date, yes?”

Draco smirked down at her. “Yes, I’d much prefer our first date be at a ludicrously pricey yet intimate restaurant as opposed to a premature engagement announcement in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor.”

“I see. And the rest of the evening?” Her hands traced up his arms to land on his shoulders. “Tell me. Tell me what happens next,” she whispered. The atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” he said in a low voice, his hands skimming down her sides to rest on her hips. “I’d arrive at your flat to escort you to dinner. You’d be dressed in some fantastic little number that I will want to immediately remove from you, but because I was raised a gentleman, I’ll insist we leave to make our dinner reservation.”

Hermione bit her lip and leaned in closer. “And then what?”

“Then I’d take you out to the most exclusive restaurant in all of wizarding London, obviously,” he drawled. “A private table in the back, of course, we wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Just how private is this table?” she asked coyly.

“Private enough that should I want to have you straddling my lap while you feed me, that could be arranged with but a few Galleons tossed at the wait staff to sod off for a bit. But alas, I am still a gentleman, so you’d have to settle for being ogled across the table.”

Hermione’s fingers moved up to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “And for dessert?”

Draco grinned. “You would insist that you are simply too full and couldn’t possibly eat another bite, but I would counter that we cannot leave until we sample their specialty.”

“Which is?”

“Chocolate soufflé, of course.” Draco kicked the bedroom door shut behind him. He tightened his grip on Hermione’s hips and turned them around, walking her backwards towards the closed door. “And wouldn’t you know, but they only left us one spoon to share. I suppose I would be remiss in my duties as a good date if I didn’t offer to assist you in tasting.”

He had her back against the door now, a few inches of space remaining between their bodies. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“I’d have you entirely at my mercy and I would absolutely delight in spooning an indecent amount of chocolate into that mouth of yours,” he said huskily, and moved one of his hands off her hip to thumb at her pouty lower lip.

“Despite my best efforts to be neat, a bit of that chocolate remains on your lips and the side of your mouth. And though I want to lean forward and lick it all off, I’d once again remain the gentleman. Instead, I’m sure you’d dart out that little tongue of yours and I’d be helpless to fantasies of imagining that tongue doing things to me, not just lapping up chocolate.”

Draco felt her breath stutter as he moved his hand from her lips and upwards to palm the curve of her face. Her bright eyes were brimming with anticipation.

“Is that it then? Does our night end right after dessert?” she whispered. Draco bit his lip and leant his head down further, a few of his platinum locks falling forward to just brush her forehead.

“Of course not Granger, I’ve got to escort you home, haven’t I?”

Draco saw her eyes darken and wondered if she could see the lust reflected in his own. “I’d be so, so, sorely tempted to persuade you to invite me inside,” he whispered. “But Hermione Granger is not the type of woman to invite a man inside after the first date. Instead I shall have to settle for a kiss worthy enough to get you to agree to a second date.”

He finally closed the distance between them, gently pressing his lips to hers and parting them slowly. He brought his hands up to rest them in her soft hair and met her movement as she angled her head to deepen the kiss. Draco felt her rise up on her tip toes to press herself closer, emboldening him to tighten his hold and slide his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of a bliss that he’d been chasing his whole life and the euphoria of finally touching her, holding her, tasting her, settled the anxious beating of his heart.

And it was this, he thought, this charged energy between him and Hermione that no book, let alone a book on bloody courting customs, could ever properly capture. This type of connection between two people wasn’t brokered by mindlessly following a rigid set of rules. Nowhere in that offensive text did it describe the sublime feeling of Hermione’s lips pillowing beneath his own, of her silken tongue grazing his, of her small hands gripping his hair gently and anchoring him to the earth. It didn’t detail how it warmed him when she praised him at work, or how his abdomen clenched when their eyes met as they discussed or argued over the proper procedure for curse containment… no, Draco was quite sure no book existed in the universe that could detail that unreserved joy to be had in succumbing to a mutual attraction unencumbered by parental or societal expectations.

Draco pulled away slowly, resisting the temptation to take things further than Hermione was ready for. She had an impish grin on her face but then to his surprise, she let out a disappointed sigh.

“So close. Pity Malfoy, I really wanted to give our first date an Outstanding but unfortunately you’ll have to settle for an Exceeds Expectations.”

He frowned, puzzled. “What did I get wrong?”

“I am absolutely the type of woman to invite a man inside.”

They shared momentary wicked grins before Draco crushed his lips to hers and backed her against the door with his full weight. No curve went untouched, no part of her neck un-kissed, as Draco gave into his baser urges to feel and taste every inch of Hermione within reach. The witch in his arms matched his enthusiasm, thoroughly wrecking his carefully coiffed hair and shamelessly grinding her hips against his.

They only parted long enough for Draco to shuck his robes and shirt, Hermione following suit as she pulled her ratty jumper over her head. He experienced a pleasant surprise at the fact that Hermione wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and suddenly found himself with a topless woman planting open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

“Gods, but I do love a modern witch,” he groaned, his hands wantonly caressing her bare breasts and inciting delightful moans from her.

“I’ll show you modern,” she replied huskily and pushed him back toward the bed. She immediately took charge of undressing both of them and climbing atop him. Draco reached down between them, intent on priming her fully, but Hermione batted his hand away.

“Next time,” she said and Draco’s breathing stuttered as the realization sunk in that Hermione wanted to do this again, not just use him for a one-off.

“Fuck, Granger,” he hissed as she gripped his erection in hand to line him up properly and slid herself down onto him. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Ditto,” she breathed and then both of them became rather incoherent as she rocked her hips up and down.

Draco truly had no idea that seeking out Hermione to apologize on behalf of the insane women in their lives would lead to him buried deep in her tight, wet heat, but suffice it to say, he was not going to complain about this extraordinary turn of events.

When both had achieved release, Draco gathered her spent form close and pressed light kisses to her temple and hair. Now that the cards were on the table, he couldn’t stop himself from showering her with all the affection he’d been holding in for months. Hermione snuggled into his side, alternately stroking his chest and peppering his neck and shoulder with her own kisses.

Draco had no idea how long they remained in this blissful state, but he knew his lunch break was long over and he had no intention of returning to the office.

“So Granger,” he drawled. “Free for dinner this evening?”

He felt Hermione sigh as she nuzzled the side of his neck. “I suppose we can take a long enough break to order in some food.”

Draco chuckled at her forwardness. “Shall we take this to my place or yours? I doubt Potter would be overly pleased to come home and find us still shagging in his guest room.”

“We can go to mine, I’ll let Harry and Gin know I’m all right.”

Once they’d dressed and Hermione wrote a quick note for the Potters, Draco held his hand out for her to take.

“Ready?”

“Yes, let’s… oh wait!”

She dashed back to the other side of the bed and picked _Courting Customs Most Sacred_ up from the floor. Draco couldn’t help but scoff. “I know you’re loathe to ever disrespect a book, but you should bin that thing. In fact, if this works out between us, we should have a ceremonial burning.”

Hermione beamed at him and shook her head. She looked down at the old tome fondly.

“If this works out between us, I’m putting this front and center on our mantle.”

* * *

_Eight months later_

Pansy stared curiously at the cream envelope that had just been unceremoniously dropped in her lap. The delivery owl took flight immediately, not bothering to wait around for her to open it or respond. Silver letter opener in hand, she made to slice the top, but her sharp tool met stiff resistance. Black curling letters appeared across the front.

_This letter may only be opened in the presence of Narcissa Malfoy._

When she stepped through the Floo of Malfoy Manor minutes later, she was greeted by Narcissa herself, also clutching an envelope. “Did you get—?” Narcissa approached her and reached for Pansy’s envelope. When her hand touched the letter, it floated out of both their grasps and hovered in the air in front of them.

The letter unfurled itself slowly and Pansy recognized Draco’s elegant handwriting as it appeared along the pages, as if an invisible quill were writing in real time.

_“Dear Pansy and Mother,_

_We trust this letter finds you well. Consider this a long overdue thank you note from Granger and myself. Apologies, that last statement is no longer factually accurate. This is a thank you note from Mrs. Granger-Malfoy and myself. Contrary to what is written in Chapter 8 of Courting Customs Most Sacred, Hermione has hyphenated her married name instead of solely adopting the surname of her husband. While I’m still rather put off that you two conspired to interfere with my romantic prospects, my lovely wife has urged me to concede that your hearts were in the right place and that we do in fact owe you some gratitude in helping us to recognize our feelings for one another. Please don’t be too angry with us when we tell you we’ve flouted another custom and eloped on our holiday in Switzerland. I’m very aware this type of marriage ceremony flies directly in the face of the entirety of Chapter 10. We’re extending our trip by another week so as to have a proper, private honeymoon._

_Love from, Draco and Hermione”_

Pansy glanced uneasily at Narcissa to see how the older witch would take the news that she’d been deprived of throwing a ridiculously lavish nuptial affair for her only child. To her surprise, the Malfoy matriarch was holding a trembling hand over her smiling mouth, happy tears pricking her eyes.

“Let’s open yours now,” Pansy urged softly and touched her finger to Narcissa’s letter.

Instead of flowing words, a small black and white photo emerged to float in front of them. When Pansy realized what she was seeing, she had happy tears of her own.

“Oh… oh how wonderful!” Pansy exclaimed and heard a soft gasp from Narcissa.

The short caption was in Hermione’s neat script:

_“Please see the enclosed photographic evidence of our latest rebellion against that rubbish text. She’s due to arrive in 6 months and we’re seriously considering naming her Apollonia.”_

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm a long-time reader of D/Hr stories, so thank you to anyone who gave my first published story even a passing glance. I'm also brand new to AO3, so posting here was a bit of a learning curve (this story is cross-posted on FF.net). I have several one-shots, short multi-chapter stories, as well as one gigantic novel-length fic in the works for this pairing, so if you enjoyed this one, stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Part 2/2 to be posted in the next few days. This story is also up on FF.net. Thanks for reading!


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